The Tragic Tale of Red Handed Jill
by blackbirdsheart
Summary: "Hook had kidnapped her and promised no good end. Surrounded then by pirates and asked to join the crew, the story goes she told them no, but not all tales are true." – S.J. Tucker   My imagined tale of Wendy and her adventures as Red Handed Jill,enjoy.
1. Introduction

There was more to the story of Wendy's days as Red Handed Jill than has been told, particularly because it was not an enjoyable one. The amount of time and condition of the experience was so long and miserable that Neverland itself had changed. Peter's sorrow at the loss had caused Wendy and himself to age two years, the process would have continued had Pan not realized what was occurring earlier. But before we touch on the actual tragedy we should first look at the joy that Wendy felt as story teller for the Jolly Roger.


	2. Chapter 1: Becoming Jill

Chapter 1 Becoming Jill

It had been an evening of sorrow for Wendy, as she had realized that Peter refused to come to terms with his feelings, for they scared him and made him feel old. Wendy knew well that Pan's fear of aging would most likely outweigh his feelings for her so she stole away to her home that Peter and the Lost Boys had constructed the day she had arrived to Neverland. Tears fell from her eyes until she'd grown so tired that she fell asleep. The next morning when she stepped out of her hut she found herself on the Jolly Roger, greeted by Captain James Hook and his crew. She stood in shock, staring at the grimy, warped faces of the sailors. Smee sheepishly offered her rum, only to be threatened by Hook with his life.

"She is a lady, Smee, ladies do not drink _rum_." Hook said with a sneer.

"Perhaps whiskey then, miss?" Smee said, gesturing towards a bottle in his other hand.

"No, you bumbling fool!" Hook smacked Smee over his head and the elderly sailor's grin quickly disappeared. Hook then turned back to Wendy, forcing a smile. "We should like to make a proposal, Miss Wendy."

"A proposal?" Wendy scoffed, "what possible proposal could you have for me, Hook?"

"Why, we wish for you to join our crew!" Hook gestured towards the mass of men standing behind him.

"Your crew?" Wendy laughed, "and for what reason? What could I possibly offer you, and what could you offer me?"

"Well," Hook removed his hat, "we'd love to have a story teller on the ship. It's been so long since we've heard a good story, or had the company of such a lovely young lady."

Wendy crossed her arms, "I still have yet to hear what is in this deal for me."

Hook placed his hat back upon his head, "We know that Pan is incapable of caring for a lady as any man could, so in exchange for your tales we should like to offer you the respect and adoration that Pan cannot give. "

Wendy swallowed what could have been tears, tears that she did not need Hook and his crew to see. She felt such a pain in her chest at the mention of Peter's inability, rather his refusal, to return feelings she felt towards him. She weighed her options. She could refuse the offer and return to a life of pretend, knowing the role of Mother and Father of her and Peter could never become reality. Or, she could accept the proposal and start anew.

"I should like," Wendy started as the pirates grew eager, "to have time to think about your proposal Captain Hook."

"And you shall have it." Hook said with a grin, "We shall return your hut to its original place. When you have made your decision, you know where to go."

Wendy nodded and went back into her hut to think more about the pirates' proposal.

Wendy sat in her seat at the head of the make-shift table opposite of Peter. The boys were too naïve to see the tension between their Mother and Father, as they were preoccupied with the deer that they managed to capture. Wendy shifted her food around her plate as Peter stared at her. She sighed and Peter slammed down his piece of meat. The entire table grew silent and all shifted their gaze towards Peter, all but Wendy.

"What is _your_ problem?" Peter asked through his teeth. Wendy sighed again, placing her food on her plate as the boys gazed at her waiting for her response.

"I just, I feel as though something is missing." She kept her eyes on her food and the boys looked back at their Father.

"What could be missing! I have given you everything, everything and more!" Peter stood up, slamming his fist on the table and the children jumped.

Wendy stood, holding her chin in the air, "Something that it seems you are incapable of giving, something that you refuse to admit exists." She walked away to her room that had been added to their hide-out and picked up a piece of paper and her porcupine quill. She then dipped her quill in Neverberry juice, holding her hand poised over the paper as a drop of the red liquid dripped onto the blank sheet.

She felt strange, for the first time in her life and for the first time in Neverland she was very unsure of herself. She was not angry, she was not happy, she was not sad, she felt nothing. She became alarmed at the thought of feeling nothing, for surely it was more terrifying than feeling pain. She hungered for some kind of emotion, and so she wrote. She only wrote in desperate times, she only wrote when she needed to find herself or sort out her thoughts. She had intended to sort her thoughts and feelings this time, but things did not go according to plan. Her hand seemed to take on a life of its own, entirely separate from her body and mind. She wrote with fury only known to come from a woman, she wrote to Peter and informed him of her decision. She knew that she had decided to do as she had written out of pure anger, and that it was rash, but she did not care. There was something about the stab that she felt in her heart, the emptiness she felt in her soul, knowing that Peter only saw life as an exaggerated game of pretend. After writing her own declaration of independence she glanced at her hand, stained with Neverberry juice, and contemplated how to sign the note. She decided that with a new life she should take on a new name.

_Red Handed Jill_ suddenly became scrawled across the paper by her hand, again acting as if it had been possessed by other-worldly spirits. She leaned back, taking in the pseudonym. She found that she quite liked the sound of it very much. Wendy, for this is the last time she would call herself that wretched name given to her at birth, placed her note upon Peter's bedside table and quickly stole away in the night for the Jolly Roger.

After their feast had come to an end Peter found himself consumed with two things; fatigue and frustration. He had thought everything was going perfect, as it usually did for him, and so it disturbed him greatly that Wendy suddenly had changed in her demeanor. For him there was no life greater than the one he lived. What could possibly be better than sword fights, swimming with mermaids, flying, and declaring war on the Indians every other day? Certainly not _feelings_, that he was sure of. Even the simple **idea** of them made him feel nauseas. They seemed to offend him in ways that disgusted him.

He shook his head, wishing to expel the thoughts from his mind, he felt as though they may poison it permanently. He lifted himself into the air with much happier thoughts, things like playing games and fighting pirates, over to his pile of furs and picked up his flute. He began to play, as he usually did when trying to clear his thoughts, when a piece of paper stained with red ink distracted him. He put down his flute and picked up the paper from his bedside table. It had odd symbols scrawled all over it, he couldn't quite figure out what any of it meant no matter how hard he tried. This frustrated him; it always frustrated him when he couldn't do something, for he was the best at everything. He decided it must be a treasure map, and that he must see which of the boys could read it for him, they had a better memory of written language than he did.

He burst back into the main room where the boys were rough-housing as usual. The Twins and Slighty had Tootles tied up in a bind as John and Michael were interrogating him about some made-up crime. Nibs and Curly sat by entranced with John's exquisite use of language to befuddle poor Tootles.

"Attention!" Peter bellowed his hands on his hips and body in the air. The boys immediately lined up, saluting their captain. Humble Tootles tried his hardest to stand in his mess of rope, only to fail miserably. "I have here, a secret code." Peter held up the paper, "And I shall reward the honor of being leader in tomorrow's hunt to the first boy who deciphers it."

Now, of course, the boys realized this was no code, but they decided to play his game anyways. John took the paper from Peter and laid it out for all to observe. The boys studied the script with great interest, but none could remember how to read. None, of course, but John.

"I believe," John started, capturing Peter's interest, "it is a letter from a pirate."

Peter's cerulean eyes grew brighter, "So, we have been given an adventure." He flashed his pearly white teeth, giddy with the thought of a battle.

"Not quite, more of a warning." John looked up uneasily.

"Oh, just read it to us!" Peter was growing impatient, as he always did when he felt like a secret was being kept from him; it was something adults did often. And so, John began to read.

"To Peter Pan and His Boys,

Due to your pathetic, and outright heartless, treatment of your _Wendy _I have decided to provide her with a new and more fulfilling life." John paused, hearing Peter's scoff. "What?"

"Nothing, continue." Peter rolled his eyes; the letter was too formal for him, and how **dare** this _pirate_ assume there is a better life than the one he had provided.

John continued, "She is to now live a life of piracy." John swallowed, feeling Peter's muscles tense, "And you should forget that she ever existed, for soon she will cease to exist. Signed, Red Handed Jill." If one actually looked at the paper, they would see there were quite a lot of things crossed out. It seemed the letter's author had a lot to say, but didn't know how to say it. Perhaps she simply did not want to say it. She had tried to address Peter in at least four different ways, finally deciding on the third way of addressing him.

"I do miss Mother." Tootles sighed, "I think we should challenge this pirate and get her back. Do you think we should, Slightly?"

"I think we should." Slightly agreed, "Do you think we should, Curly?"

"I do miss her so." Curly nodded, "Do you think we should, Twins?"

"Of course we want our mother back!" the Twins chimed in unison, "Do you think we should, Nibs?"

"Let's go!" Nibs stood up, ready for action.

This was the Lost Boys' version of voting, and most of the time they all agreed with one another. It was obvious that John and Michael would have also agreed to go. Peter clasped his hands behind his back and paced across the room like an army general. The Boys stood stiff, awaiting his decision. Except Tootles, of course, who was still writhing on the ground like a confused worm.

"Gentlemen," Peter said with authority, as he liked to think they were all English gentlemen, his azure eyes sparkled, "at dawn we attack!


End file.
